


No Featherbed For Me Ficlets

by lit_chick08



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet Collection, Gap Filler, Multi, POV Multiple, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 11,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets set in the same universe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/317779">No Featherbed For Me</a> which fill in the blanks from different characters POVs</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa and Gendry's Relationship

It is a peculiar thing, going to your marriage bed knowing your husband prefers your little sister. The wedding guests leave her in Gendry’s chambers in nothing but her smallclothes, and she tries to arrange herself becomingly on the bed. When he arrives, she thinks she sees admiration in his eyes, and Sansa tells herself it will be fine. He is her husband now and Arya is to wed Ned Dayne, and this flirtation between Gendry and Arya will be a thing of the past.

He is gentle with her, more gentle than she thought a man of his size and strength would be; he calls her sweetling when he has too much wine, and sometimes it steals Sansa’s breath, the ferocity in his kisses. She starts to swell so soon after the wedding, and their girls arrive, one after another, pretty and perfect. Robert makes a comment about her inability to produce a son, and it is Gendry who defends her, Rose cradled in his arms, fiercely declaring a daughter is just as good as a son. It makes Cersei smile when he says it, and Sansa thinks she is so lucky to have a husband who loves his daughters so well.

But then the Ironborn rebel again, Edric Dayne is dead, and Arya is back in the Red Keep, more beautiful than Sansa remembered her, and the old insecurities begin to creep in again. Arya is still shorter than she is, but the wild nest of hair she never tended to when they were children hangs in a lustrous wave down her back; her bosom is small and so is her waist, and Sansa reminds herself that Arya has not had her body changed by bearing a child, that poor Arya is barren. And yet, when they both think she is not looking, she catches the longing glances her husband and sister cast towards each other, quickly turning away before they can be caught.

Gendry does not come to her bed once during those times, drinking himself to sleep in his chambers, only Edric Storm for company. When she hears Robert complaining how it is far past time for Renly to wed, she suggests the match to Arya in hopes it will give her sister a handsome Baratheon husband of her very own.

It prompts the first true fight between her and Gendry. Gendry seldom raises his voice or loses his temper with her; he explained early in their marriage he had seen his father disparage and strike his mother far too many times, and he never wanted to do the same. Burning with anger and rejection, Sansa shouts, “How long it will be until you stop loving her?!”

They do not speak for nearly a fortnight. When Gendry comes to her room, he apologizes, kissing her softly and swearing there are things about Renly she does not understand. Sansa did not know men did the things Gendry explains Renly and Ser Loras do together, and she feels regret for suggesting a false marriage for Arya. And yet those two years while Arya is at Storm’s End are the happiest of her marriage. Gendry is attentive in a way he has never been before and the girls are a pure joy. This is the life she imagined growing up at Winterfell, happily married to a prince and raising little princesses. Some nights she and Gendry stay up until the sun rises just talking, his head in her lap as they share stories of their childhoods, the happenings of their days, even discuss names for the children they still plan on having. Sansa wants to give him a son, and Margaery teases her that no one has practiced more diligently than the two of them.

“Your love is so sweet,” Margaery tells her one day, but Sansa does not tell her the truth. She loves Gendry and Gendry loves her, but theirs is a relationship built on respect and friendship, not one of love.

Everything begins to fall apart when Arya runs away with the sellsword. At first Sansa thinks she will be found quickly and Gendry will stop lashing out at everyone, will stop conspiring with Robb to invade Essos to steal their sister back. But then comes word the sellsword is truly Aegon Targaryen, and there is a rage in Gendry Sansa has never before seen; he is mad with it, drunk on it, and Father says it is how Robert became when Lyanna was stolen. Sansa does not bother pointing out that Arya was not stolen away; she ran.

Aeron is conceived on accident, and her perfect little boy gives Gendry a brief focus which is not Arya. But just before Aeron’s second name day, Aegon Targaryen and his armies land at Storm’s End, and Sansa knows nothing will be the same now. There is no sign of Arya and her children, and Sansa prays for her safety; there were rumors of her in the Vale but little else. Gendry rarely sees her or the children during the war, and Sansa starts to hate him. She hates him for being weak and all but forgetting them; it is the first time Sansa understands why Queen Cersei hates Robert so much.

She never forgives him for asking after Arya’s safety rather than asking to preserve hers when Aegon took the Keep. The Targaryen prince - now king - is beautiful and quite kind to her, tells her Arya spoke highly of her, but all Gendry thinks of is Arya. And when her sister and children safely arrive at the Red Keep, Sansa knows it is the beginning of the end.

When Petyr Baelish tells her Arya confessed to an affair with Gendry, she feels strangely numb about it. Even when she confronts Arya as she is leaving King’s Landing, Sansa does not hate her; she feels angry and betrayed, but she knows she will forgive Arya for this just as she has for other wrongs.

They return to Casterly Rock, and Gendry is a different man, broken somehow. They share a bed only once, but the experience is so sad, Sansa cannot bear to do it again. And yet she finds herself pregnant again, and, when Jeyne writes to say Arya is with child as well, Sansa imagines some sort of peace for them, even writing to invite Arya to visit once she has her child. But then Sansa’s babe is stillborn and she finds Gendry trying to send a letter offering to be a father to the bastard he got on Arya, and Sansa cannot bear it.

How many betrayals must one woman bear? Sansa thought as she stared upon Gendry’s letter. How many times must they shame me? 

Sansa has never been a malicious person, but, as she holds Gendry’s letter to Arya over a flame, she thinks of the words Cersei Lannister once gave her, a rumination on how she could never compete with the memory of a dead girl. As the letter becomes nothing but ash, Sansa knows with certainty she will never be able to compete with Arya now, not after this.

“Did you ever love me?” she asks Gendry after Aeron succumbs to fever, after they have buried two sons in two years.

“I love you still,” Gendry replies, tears still wet on his cheeks as they sit in the sept where Aeron lies for burial.

“But never like her,” Sansa finishes, unable in her grief to even say Arya’s name.

Gendry takes her hand, squeezing tightly. ”You are my wife. That is forever.”

“Forever,” Sansa agrees. 

Forever is an awfully long time. Sansa wishes she had known just how long when she was six-and-ten and so anxious to marry a prince.


	2. Gendry's POV during Aegon's Invasion

It has been nearly five years since Arya left Westeros with Aegon Targaryen. To say the thought never leaves his mind is an understatement; it has consumed Gendry from the moment he awoke to find out she was gone. But when it becomes clear she was not forced, when word reaches them that Arya has bore his children, Gendry has no choice but to admit she wanted Aegon Targaryen. All the things she refused Gendry so long ago, she gave to Aegon easily, and Gendry knew he had to forget her. He tried to focus on Sansa and the girls, on little Aeron and helping his father (well, Lord Stark really) govern the realm, but at night, when he cannot guard his thoughts, Arya is always there as he prefers to remember her: smiling, laughing, bold as brass and uncaring of what anyone thinks.

Word arrives in the middle of the night that Aegon Targaryen has landed in Westeros with Dothraki screamers and the Golden Company. As he prepares for war, Gendry realizes he has been waiting for this day since Arya left, ready to do to Aegon what Robert Baratheon did to Rhaegar Targaryen decades earlier. His father even gives Gendry his war hammer, the very one he used to put down Rhaegar, and Gendry vows to end the man.

He never counts on taking a wound against the Dothraki in the Reach. The curved blade of a man on horseback opens his back nearly to the bone, and the wound festers; while he is fevered and unable to make decisions, Garlan Tyrell orders him to be returned to the Red Keep. By the time he is on his feet again, his father is hovering on the brink of death and Aegon’s men have taken Storm’s End, invaded the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and the Reach, have been joined by Dorne, and are laying siege to the Eyrie and Casterly Rock. Only Winterfell and the North remains untouched, but Robb sends word they cannot guard every inch of coast for long. When Aegon arrives in King’s Landing and offers Gendry the chance to surrender, his mother begs him not to; Gendry knows to do so all but guarantees his grandfather and uncle will be put to death, but he is not so sure they deserve absolution for they did to the Targaryens. Gendry loves the kingdoms, and he does not want his people to be savaged by the Dothraki, who have already burnt crops in the Reach and taken women as they wished. His father would have fought to the very last breath, but Gendry thinks of Sansa and their children, thinks of what Gregor Clegane did to Elia Martell, and he agrees to treat with Aegon Targaryen.

Arya’s dragon husband is as tall as Gendry, slim but sturdy; his silver hair hangs about his chin, and his face is set in a grim line. They meet in the throne room, his family securely held in Maegor’s Holdfast; upon their agreement, Gendry has only Edric with him while Aegon has a young Dothraki boy he introduces as his nephew.

Aegon swears he will not harm Sansa or the children, tells him he will not do to the Baratheons what was done to his own family. Gendry thanks him for it and listens as Aegon outlines his terms. 

“We do not have to be enemies, Lord Baratheon,” Aegon says, and Gendry never cared much for his title as prince but he despises this man for taking it from him. “If you agree to the terms, declare for me and recognize me as the true king of the Seven Kingdoms, I’ll grant you Casterly Rock and allow your uncle to keep Storm’s End.”

“My uncle Tyrion is to inherit the Rock.”

“No Lannister will ever hold anything in my kingdoms,” Aegon flatly declares. “I will permit the imp and your mother to live, provided they remain at Casterly Rock. If that does not suit them, perhaps they will enjoy the exile my family enjoyed. I’m willing to allow you to retain the title as Warden of the West as well.” When Gendry said nothing, Aegon adds, “These are excellent terms. You would be a fool to refuse them.”

His mother never forgives him for it; his grandfather and Uncle Jaime die swiftly, their heads placed upon the wall beside Gregor Clegane’s and Amory Lorch’s. Members of the Golden Company escort Cersei to Casterly Rock that very night while Tyrion elects to go East. Sansa cannot stop shaking when they enter the Holdfast, trying to remember her courtesies even as she tries to hide the children behind her, but Aegon Targaryen only smiles kindly and inclines his head in greeting.

“I mean you and your family no harm, Lady Baratheon. After all, you are my family as well.”

“Where is Arya?” Gendry blurts out, unable to contain the words any longer. He can feel Sansa’s eyes upon him, but he cannot look at his wife, not at this moment.

Aegon’s face clouds over for a moment before admitting, “I do not know. But I am certain she is safe. Arya is very resourceful.”

I do not need you to tell me about her, Gendry wants to snap, but he doesn’t. For the first time in his life, he must mind his tongue, must simper and bow the way everyone has done for him his entire life, and nothing will ever gall him quite so much as having to pay respects to the man who so easily earned Arya’s love.


	3. Gendry Learns of Brandon

Sansa is seven moons gone with their fifth child when she tells him Arya has given birth to a health baby boy. She says it matter-of-factly, as if relaying something banal, but it stops Gendry cold.

“Aegon sent her away knowing she carried his child?”

Sansa looks at him then, the pain in her blue eyes as sharp as ever. “Aegon sent her away knowing she did not carry his child.” He cannot say anything, unsure if Sansa is going to scream at him or cast him out entirely, unsure what to do with the knowledge Arya has given him a son, when Sansa adds, “She has called him Brandon, Brandon Snow.”

“A good Stark name,” he manages, crossing to the table and pouring himself a cup of wine. 

“She could hardly use another Targaryen one,” Sansa states practically, each of her words feeling like a little slap. Gendry does not resent her for it; it is the very least he deserves the sins he has committed over the past year. 

“They are both well?”

“Jeyne says the babe was a bit overdue and larger than Maester Luwin would have liked. Arya has to stay abed for a moon’s turn to give her body proper time to heal, but she says the babe is healthy enough. He and our son will be as close in age as Jon and Robb.”

“Yes,” Gendry agrees, draining his cup and pouring another.

“When Arya is healthy enough to travel and I have delivered our son, I thought to invite her to visit.” Gendry turns to look at Sansa in disbelief, not daring to believe what she is suggesting. ”I’m sure Aeron and Rose would enjoy the company of the older children, and…” Sansa sighs. ”We are too old to play at games, and I am too tired for it. Her Brandon is their half-brother, and a babe should not have to suffer for the sins of his parents.”

Gendry waits, nearly giddy at the idea of Arya and their son joining them at Casterly Rock. When Sansa goes to the birthing bed to deliver what she insists will be a boy they will call Steffon, Gendry waits with the other children, trying to imagine what it will be like to hold Brandon in one arm and Steffon in the other.

Steffon is born without breath, and a pall falls over Casterly Rock. Any thoughts of Arya and Brandon are forgotten as they mourn. When Sansa is able to leave her chamber again, her sadness finally fading, Gendry thinks it is best to wait a bit before broaching the subject of Arya’s visit. But then the sweating sickness comes and Aeron slips away as well, and Gendry feels as if his grief will swallow him whole. He and Sansa both cannot collect themselves, lost in losing both of their sons so close together. It is his grief and longing which makes him write the letter.

Gendry has never been good with words. As his mother so often reminds him, he has inherited many of his father’s traits, including being a man more comfortable with action than expression. But he pours his heart onto that piece of parchment, explaining how much he wants to be a father to Brandon, how he loves her and will support her in any way she needs, how he will do anything to see the only son he has left. Gendry writes a half-dozen letters before selecting the one which sounds best, burning the others; he takes it to the rookery, sealing it with wax, and hopes Arya’s response will be swift.

He spends the next seven years waiting for a response which never comes, hoping to find a letter in Arya’s rushed hand only to receive nothing. When word reaches that she has gone to Dragonstone with her children, when he receives the notice from the Keep that Aegon has legitimized all of Arya’s children, including Brandon, Gendry feels ice settle around his heart.

Brandon is his son, and, once again, Arya has chosen Aegon to fulfill the role Gendry is so desperate to fill.


	4. Aemon and Brandon's Falling Out

Alysanne loves her brothers. She loves her sister as well, but it is harder to love Rhaenys, who always needs to lead the way and tell everyone what to do. But Aemon has always been the sweetest brother a girl could want, and Brandon is practically a part of her, the one who knows all her secrets. It never occurs to Alysanne to love Aemon more because they share the same father; it never occurs to her that it matters.

But when Aemon tells Brandon he cannot come with them to Essos because he does not have dragon’s blood, it is the first time Alysanne truly recognizes that Brandon is different. And, as Brandon recoils from Aemon’s words, Alysanne can tell it is the first time he has realized it as well.

“It isn’t that we do not want you with us,” Aemon continues, his voice as calm as it ever is, “but it is unsafe, especially if we go to Valyria.”

“Valyria is a smoking ruin,” Brandon snaps. “Everyone knows that.”

“People like us - “

“Oh, yes, the blood of the fucking dragon!” Brandon shouts, getting to his feet. Alysanne can tell by the way he paces back and forth that his rage is only growing with every passing moment. ”This is Rhaenys’s doing.”

“It is commonsense,” Aemon argues, rising as well. Alysanne suddenly realizes Brandon is much bigger than Aemon now, both taller and broader.

Brandon whirls, pointing at Aemon, the muscles in his arms tense. “No! It has always been this way! You have always excluded me! From the moment we left Winterfell, it has been the three of you against me!”

“That isn’t fair,” Alysanne objects. ”I have never done anything to you!”

Brandon hesitates for a moment, obviously seeing the truth in the statement, before turning back to Aemon. ”You think because I didn’t wake a dragon that I’m useless, just your bastard brother who isn’t good for anything.”

“I’ve never thought that,” Aemon swears.

“Liar!” Brandon spits, and Alysanne thinks he doesn’t look a bit like Lord Renly in his anger; he is wholly their mother. ”You think because I’m not a Targaryen, not a dragon that I do not matter at all.” Moving nearer to Aemon, the air vibrating with his fury, he growls, “You and Rhaenys need to remember one thing: fire cannot kill a dragon but a stag can.”

Alysanne moves to intervene but not quickly enough. The moment Brandon’s words leave his mouth, Aemon, whose temper could be just as bad as Brandon’s if properly provoked, retorts, “But you’re not a stag, are you? Just a bastard - “

Brandon’s fist crashes so powerfully against Aemon’s face, Alysanne is half-afraid it will kill him. As she rushes to put herself between her brothers, Aemon rushes Brandon, hitting him squarely at the waist, trying to drive him to the ground.

“Stop it! Stop it now!” Alysanne shouts, pulling at Aemon’s shirts until he releases Brandon. As Brandon pops up to his feet, Alysanne throws herself against his chest; she knows she cannot physically hold him, but she knows Brandon well enough to know he would never hurt her.

As they both attempt to catch their breaths, Aemon’s eye already turning a vicious shade of purple, Alysanne declares, “This is not how a pack behaves. Mother would not want - “

“The time for what Mother wants is past,” Aemon interrupts, gingerly touching his wound. ”We aren’t children anymore, Aly. Are you coming with me or not?”

Alysanne looks between Aemon and Brandon, both of them looking at her in appeal. This is not a choice she thought she would ever have to make, and she hates Rhaenys for starting this, for bidding them to come and leave Brandon while she is thousands of leagues away, unaware of the damage she is causing. And as she stares at Brandon, barely three-and-ten and looking close to tears, Alysanne makes the choice she knows her mother would want her to make.

“No,” Alysanne says with a shake of her head. ”My place is here.”

Later, when Aemon has boarded the ship bound for Pentos, she and Brandon sit on a balcony sharing a skin of wine. He lays his head in her lap, Alysanne’s fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair the way Mother always did when they were small, when he announces, “They’ll never forgive me for this.”

“Us,” Alysanne corrects.

“Me,” Brandon insists. ”I’m just the bastard. It was always going to come to this.” His voice dropping so soft, Alysanne nearly missed his words, he sadly asks, “Why can we not all be wolves?”

Alysanne has no answers for him. There are no answers anymore.


	5. Rhaenys's POV on Gendry

Rhaenys hates her uncle Gendry. She isn’t certain if it is fair or not; Rhaenys is not so stupid as to think her mother was blameless in Brandon’s conception. But whenever she looks upon her aunt Sansa’s husband, all she can see is the reason they were sent away, the reason she was declared a bastard, the reason Jessa Tyrell’s daughters were allowed to take her place. Just because Rhaenys has had her name returned to her does not mean she will ever forgive Gendry.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Aemon tells her one evening as they sit upon the traitor’s walk, their legs dangling over the edge, the cool night air rushing over her skin.

“I am not.”

Aemon laughs. “Yes, you are. What do you think is going to happen now that he’s here?”

“What happened before.” Grasping the wineskin between them, Rhaenys states, “You know as well as I do that Mother and Father are happier now than they’ve been since we were in Vaes Dothrak. I won’t let him ruin it.”

“I don’t know that actually. I was two when we left there, remember? The first thing I remember is the Wall.”

“Well, they are,” Rhaenys insists, “and I just know, so long as he’s here, Mother will do what she did before and then - “

“Mayhaps they were never meant to be together.”

Rhaenys looks at her brother, certain she is misunderstanding what he is saying. For a moment she cannot even think of something to say, and, when she can finally speak, all she manages is, “You’re wrong.”

Aemon looked at her apologetically. “I don’t mean Mother doesn’t love him. But what if she and Gendry are like you and Rhaego? What if - “

“They aren’t! Rhaego and I love each other, and we are going to marry; we certainly aren’t going to wed other people and make everyone miserable by regretting it for the rest of our lives. It’s different.”

“It’s different,” Aemon murmurs, and Rhaenys can tell he is only saying it to settle an argument, that he does not truly believe it. Rhaenys wants to explain that she knows they are in love, that she remembers how happy they used to be together and how happy they are now; they will finally be a family again.

Rhaenys knows it is not Gendry’s fault her mother’s heart does not belong solely to her father. But she will hate him anyway.


	6. Sansa Tells Gendry She Stole His Letter

She and Gendry have never fought much; Sansa is not prone to emotional outbursts, and Gendry tries to control his temper. When he comes to the chambers they share in the Keep, Sansa has spent the day preparing herself for how Gendry will react. He is in a pleasant mood today, having spent the day in the training yard with some of the younger men, including Brandon, and Sansa tries to remember the last time she saw him so carefree. It is almost enough to stop her from what she needs to say. 

“Is something wrong?” Gendry asks as he changes into a clean tunic. Sansa cannot help but admire the musculature of his back; he is as handsome now as he was when they first wed. 

“I burnt your letter.”

“What letter?” he asks, wiping his face with a cloth, his teeth a shock of white in the middle of his black beard.

“The one you wrote Arya after Brandon was born, after Aeron died.”

Gendry freezes instantly, shock and disbelief warring for dominance on his face. ”What?”

“I was half-mad after Aeron’s death, you know I was,” Sansa quickly explains, “and I was so angry that she got to hold your son in her arms while both of mine were with the gods. When I found your letter in the rookery, I simply - “

“How could you do this?!” Gendry shouts, startling her with the volume of his voice. Sansa’s hands begin to shake as he paces like a caged animal across the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. ”How could you make her think - “

“Because I did not care how Arya felt! You broke our vows with my sister! She betrayed me! Was I supposed to encourage your love of her, have her bring your bastard to our home so I could watch you play with Brandon while I said prayers for the sons we lost? After all you had put me through, finding that letter broke something in me!”

Gendry stops, staring at her as if she is a stranger. Sansa swallows hard, bracing herself for whatever unkindness he is prepared to fling at her. He does not call her names or even strike her. Instead he rasps, “My mother taught you well.”

Sansa thinks she would have preferred to be struck. 

“I am sorry,” she swears, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. ”We were both different people then; our home, our station, our sons, all had been taken from me, and I blamed Arya and Brandon when I should not have.” When Gendry says nothing, she says, “I see you with him, the way you look at him. I know I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have punished Brandon the way my mother always punished Jon. I’m so sorry.”

Gendry says nothing to her. He leaves her in the chamber, slamming the massive door behind him, and Sansa cannot help but think Gendry finally knows what it feels like to be betrayed by the person you are supposed to trust more than anyone else.


	7. Arya/Gendry's Affair from Gendry's POV

Gendry has always loved the sound of Arya’s laughter. When he remembers their time at Winterfell, when he was already half in love with her and she was too stubbornly blind to notice it, he tried desperately to do whatever he could to be the cause of it. She has always been so burdened down by everything - frustrations, expectations, accusations - to truly laugh much.

It is pure accident he finds the spot over her ribs which makes her burst into spontaneous giggles, twisting her body to escape. They are hidden away in one of the seldom used rooms in the Tower of the Hand, the late-afternoon sun casting shapes against the wall, the air stale; it is not a place Gendry would have chosen to take her, but Arya complained she was tired of picking leaves from her hair. Arya was lying on her back across the dusty mattress, unashamedly nude, smiling languidly as he kissed random patches of skin as he explored her body. It is one of the many things he has imagined over the years, and Arya grants it to him easily enough today, relaxed and compliant after peaking twice.

He kisses the curve of her stomach, his hands on either side of her body, when he kisses the thin skin over her ribs. Arya makes a noise in her throat, but, when he softly runs his teeth down the line of her body, the giggles start and Gendry cannot help but join in.

“Stop it!” she begs through laughter, tears running down her cheeks as she attempts to strike at him with ineffectual fists.

“The fierce Arya Stark, struck down by tickling,” Gendry teases, his fingers digging into her ribs, keeping her in place with the weight of his body. ”They will sing songs about me and how I tamed the Wild She-Wolf!”

He hisses in pain as he feels Arya’s nails scrape down his back, and the momentary distraction is just what she needs to slide out from under him, reversing their positions. As she struggles to catch her breath, sitting on his stomach, Gendry can only grin up at her, happy at how free she seems in that moment.

“You fight dirty,” he playfully chastises, cupping her face and drawing her down for a kiss.

“What do you expect from a she-wolf?” she counters, nipping his bottom lip.

At dinner, she will be Queen Arya again, Aegon’s wife and his good-sister; she will be serious and somber, trying to act like someone she isn’t to varying degrees of success. But for now, she is just Arya, the girl he fell in love with so many years ago, the woman he loves still, and he wishes the laughter never had to stop.


	8. Gendry Learns Arya Ran Away

When Gendry wakes up the day after the tourney, he is not certain which aches worse: his body from being unhorsed or his head from finishing a skin of strongwine on his own. The sight of that damned sellsword setting the wreath of flowers in Arya’s lap has been replaying in his head since the night before, and the wine he attempted to rinse it away had done little. As he dresses, wincing at the bruised mess of his shoulder, Gendry vows he will never drink so much again.

He also vows to kill that blue-haired bastard if he ever lays eyes on him again.

When he opens the door to his chambers to summon food to break his fast, he is surprised to find no one there. Stumbling down to the great hall, he can hear his father shouting in the distance and winces. Gendry does not want to deal with his father this morning, but, as he turns to retreat, he sees Lady Stark approaching, Arya’s wreath of roses in hand, her face drained of color.

“Lady Stark? Is something wrong?”

“Arya is gone.”

“Gone? I’m certain she’s about somewhere - “

Lady Stark shakes her head. “Her sword is gone as well, the little one she always has.” Holding up the flowers, she manages, “These were left on her bed.”

Gendry tries to choke back the panic starting to bloom his chest. ”I’ll send some men out to search. I’m sure she’s just gone to the stables or the godswood.”

By midday, there is no sign of her. Robert orders the Kingsguard to help in the search, and Gendry rides out with Lord Stark and Renly to see if she has gone into one of the villages. By evening fall, Lady Stark and Sansa are both beside themselves, both lighting candles in the Sept for the gods’ assistance, and Arianne Martell as well as Allyria Dayne offer their men to assist in the search. Just past midnight Ser Arys Oakheart brings word from the docks that a woman in man’s dress boarded a ship with 4 men and a septa. It is only when Arys reports that one of the men had blue hair and the woman possessed a sand steed Gendry knows what has happened.

“Where was the ship bound for?” Lord Stark asks.

“Braavos, Lord Hand,” Ser Arys answers, “but it was a trade ship and stop in ports in nearly all of the Free Cities, including Asshai.”

Robert shouts and blusters, Lord Stark silently departs to carry the information to Lady Stark and Sansa, but all Gendry can do is stand in disbelief. Arya is gone, likely for good; she has fled the continent with some sellsword, has cast aside the honor of Houses Stark and Baratheon, and she has done so without even saying goodbye.

She loves him, Gendry realizes with a sinking stomach. 

And it is for that reason more than any other Gendry decides he will not rest until he kills Griffin of Tyrosh.


	9. Renly's POV on His Marriage

He does not want to marry this girl. 

Renly does not know much about Ned Stark’s youngest daughter, but what he does know is she is thoroughly in love with his nephew. Of all of Robert’s children, Renly knows Gendry the best; he is the only one who preferred Storm’s End to Casterly Rock, who bothered acknowledging Edric Storm. There were many things Renly was willing to do for his nephew, but marrying the girl he loved to keep her away from his wife is not one of them.

But Robert does not care, ranting and raving about how he is too old to be single, rambling on about heirs, and, before Renly knows it, he is fastening a Baratheon cloak around her narrow shoulders.

That first night when she spares him the embarrassment of being unable to perform, Renly thinks this marriage may not be what he fretted it would be. When they reach Storm’s End, he realizes Arya Stark is not what his brother warned him she would be. Oh, she is willful and stubborn, utterly confounding poor Cortnay Penrose and some of the lords’ wives; she does not hesitate to go riding without consulting anyone and behaving in a way which would make his good-sister mad. But she is kind and bitingly funny; she does not care how much time he spends with Loras, and she never asks anything of him beyond the freedom to do as she pleases.

One night he finds her standing on the walls, gazing out at Shipbreaker Bay. Her wolf stalks back and forth below, and, in the bright light of the moon, he can make out the way her hand seems to rub the pommel of her little sword like a touchstone. Renly does not know what she is looking at, where she wishes to be, but he knows with certainty she will never find any sort of real happiness with him.

The world was not made for people like him and Arya, but he hopes she can find some sort of peace with someone the way he has found it with Loras.


	10. Olenna's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case everyone thinks I've lost my mind, some of this one will not make sense because it's based upon information you don't find out until the next chapter.

Her mother does not like Arya. No one has ever told Olenna this, but she feels as if it has always been true. Sometimes, when she and Elia are playing with Daeron and Daena, Arya will join them and Mother will sweep in, saying she and Elia have lessons when they do not. Mother says not to listen to what Arya says, that she will teach them bad habits.

No one tells Olenna what these bad habits are, but she thinks Mother might be wrong. Alysanne is a perfect lady, everyone says so, and Arya is her mother.

Olenna does not remember much of Rhaenys and Aemon. She was still small when they went away, and they do not visit like Alysanne. What she remembers of Aemon is his harp and the way he’d sing songs for her; all she remembers of Rhaenys is the way she could stand in her saddle, her dark hair trailing behind her, and how much Olenna wished she could the same.

Mother tells her Brandon is not truly her brother, but she doesn’t understand what that means. She loved Brandon the most when she was smaller, even more than Alysanne; they’d play in the gardens with Elia, and he hit one of Aunt Margaery’s sons once when they were unkind to her. But he hasn’t visited since he left, and Mother says he’s in the Stormlands where he belongs.

It is just Elia, Daena, and Daeron now. When Father tells her she is going to wed the future Lord of Riverrun, she shares the information with her siblings. Elia and Daena are happy for her, but Daeron is surly; Daeron is always surly. She writes a letter to Alysanne at Starfall and Brandon at Storm’s End, asking if they will come to the tournament they are having to celebrate her betrothal; Father says he will send for Aemon and Rhaenys as well, and Olenna bounces on her heels at the idea of everyone being together again.

The night before they leave for Summerhall, Olenna asks Alysanne if they can visit the dragons. Mother does not let her go near the dragon pits, especially since the night Rhaenys rode north on Balerion’s back. Alysanne smiles and nods; they sneak to the pits and the guards are two young men who have no choice when Alysanne orders them to move so they can pass. Olenna is fascinated by Alysanne’s princess voice; she only uses it when no one else is around, and, when she does, it makes Olenna want to listen.

Alysanne tells her to stand near the entrance, and Olenna’s heart beats wildly at the sight of the two fully grown dragons fighting their chains, smoke rising from their nostrils. There is no fear in Alysanne though; she walks towards the one with green and bronze scales, and Olenna deduces this one must be Vhagar. The beast lowers its head for Alysanne to pet, and she clucks her tongue as if she is playing with a kitten instead of a dragon. Meraxes gives an indignant huff, and Alysanne turns, stroking his cream colored scales. She speaks to them in a language Olenna dimly recognizes from her lessons as Valyrian, but she cannot understand a word.

“May I touch them?”

Alysanne shakes her head immediately. “No, sweetling, you must never come here alone.”

“But I am a dragon like you. Why can I not?”

“Because a dragon only recognizes its rider.”

“But Meraxes is not your dragon,” Olenna points out. 

Alysanne smiles cryptically. “They are all my dragons, sweet sister. I could ride Vhagar as easily as I could ride Meraxes or Balerion, but Aemon and Rhaenys could not ride Vhagar.”

Olenna’s eyes widen in surprise. “How?”

Alysanne returns to her side, leading her from the pits. “Because I am blessed.”

“By the Old Gods or the New?”

“By the Lord of Light.” Alysanne bends down, resting her hands on Olenna’s shoulders as she meets her gaze. ”Some day something very bad is going to come to Westeros, and when it does, I will stop it. Do you believe that?”

Olenna does not know why, but she believes it with absolute certainty. ”Yes.”

“Then believe this as well: no good comes from dragons. Swear to me you will never try to gain one.”

“I swear.”

Olenna does not know why Alysanne thinks dragons are so terrible. But she does know she lied to her sister. 

Olenna would do anything to possess a dragon


	11. Aegon Trains Arya

Connington is furious he agreed to train with the Stark girl, but Aegon cannot help it. There is something about the girl which amuses him, fascinates him; he’s spent his life learning about the Starks, but he hadn’t the first Stark he met to be Arya. He is not concerned Arya will discover who they are; after all, Aegon Targaryen died during the Sack of King’s Landing. Everyone knows that.

She is better on her feet than Aegon expects. Though her movements are predictable and easily blocked, she is relentless, quick to move out of reach of his practice blade. Aegon is not certain which he appreciates more: her determination or her frustration. Every time he gets the best of her, Arya looks ready to spit, sometimes even smacking the ground before demanding to begin again, and Aegon thinks he would not care if she stopped paying him so long as she provides such amusement.

“Stop it!” Arya snaps one afternoon as Aegon bursts out laughing when Arya trips over her own two feet, landing hard on her ass. “I’m not paying you to mock me!”

“You’re not paying me enough to make me stop,” he counters, extending his hand to help her to her feet. Arya hisses, jerking her hand back to cradle it against her chest, and Aegon crouches down beside her, attempting to see her bruised wrist.

“I’m fine.”

“Haldon should look at this.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, hissing sharply as he touches the bruise forming on the bone. 

Aegon reaches for the last bit of snow which has not melted, gathering it in his hand and holding it to her wrist. She does not make a sound at the frigid feel of the snow, and he finds himself asking, “Is it true it always snows in the North?”

“Less in the summers but yes.” Arya reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead and Aegon beats her to it, tucking it behind her ear. A light blush fills her cheeks as she looks away. ”You do not need to play at being interested in my life. It is not why I pay you.”

“One of the many services I offer. You’re an interesting person, Arya Stark.”

Duck tells Aegon he likes Arya but he is playing with fire; Aegon makes a jape about fire and dragons, and Connington accuses him of being too cavalier. Aegon learned long ago that, when Connington looked at him, he only saw Rhaegar, and he wonders if that is true with Arya as well; Ashara says Arya bears a striking resemblance to Lyanna Stark, and Aegon is certain Connington is imagining this is history repeating. He cannot deny there is a certain symmetry to it, but Aegon has no ill will towards Arya. If anything, he feels a great deal of pity for her. A woman as vibrant and strong as she, deserves better than an absent husband with a preference for knights.

“I don’t need your pity,” Arya growls the day he makes the mistake of mentioning this to her. 

“I am trying to be kind.”

“You are terrible at it.” Assuming a fighting stance again, Arya orders, “Save your pity for someone who truly needs it.”

Her wolf makes him nervous. The creature is nearly as tall as she is, its jaws powerful enough to destroy a hare with one bite; Arya plays with the direwolf as if it is some sort of pet, but Aegon can sense it is something more. It unsettles him, and he swears the damned wolf can sense it, always moving protectively in front of Arya when he tries to step closer.

“It hates me.”

“Nymeria is a good judge of character.” Arya smirks. “Mayhaps she knows you are troublesome.”

“I’m troublesome?”

Her smile is mischief and affection, and Aegon thinks of the women he has known before, the ones he has taken to bed, and no one has ever made him feel quite so boyishly inept. He likes it, the way Arya is not cowed by him or anyone else, the way she seems so utterly unaware of how beautiful she is. He mentions it once, how beautiful he finds her, and Arya starts at it, almost as if he has struck her.

“You must not know many women,” she says, her face souring as she gives him her back, moving towards her horse to stow her practice blade.

“Is it so hard to believe a man would find you attractive? Have you been so ill treated?”

Arya turns, and he sees the same loneliness in Arya’s eyes he often feels himself. “It is hard to be ill treated when you are mostly forgotten.”

They are not so different, he and Arya Stark. And somehow, without meaning to, Aegon finds he has fallen in love with the woman the smallfolk call the Lord of Storm’s End.


	12. Rhaenys and Aemon in Braavos

Aemon does not like Braavos. What’s more, Braavos does not like him. None of the Braavosi like dragons, and it is well-known that he and Rhaenys are hardly regular travelers. Years at the Citadel have taught him how to live plainly, but Rhaenys still wears the pendant their father gave her years ago, the jeweled dragon which speaks of their fortune. And even if she did not, all the world knew of Rhaenys Targaryen, the only living person to ever ride a dragon. Aemon is not certain where Balerion is now; Rhaenys insists the dragon is fine, “resting” somewhere, but it does not give Aemon any more piece of mind than it does the people they encounter in the Free Cities.

“You worry too much,” Rhaenys tells him one evening as they eat dinner at an inn.

“You don’t worry enough,” he counters. 

Rhaenys looks at him as she sets down her wine cup, sitting back in her chair and spreading her arms. “Alright. Get it all out.”

“What?”

“Whatever’s been going through your head since we left Asshai. I know you want to say something, so say it.”

Aemon sighs, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands for a moment. ”I do not know what we’re doing here.”

“We were looking for eggs - “

“Yes,” he cuts in, “we were looking for eggs, and we found one. But to what end? How many dragons must we wake for you to be sated?”

“It isn’t about waking them.”

“Then what is it about? Why are we here, Rhaenys?”

“Where else should we be?” Rhaenys snaps, face folding in pain. ”Should I go back to the Wall, to people who aren’t mine, to a life I agreed to when my heart was broken and Mother thought I was just like her? Do you back to the Citadel and forge a chain, be someone’s servant when you should be on the Throne?”

“I do not want the throne.”

“I do!”

“And it is not my fault you cannot have it!” Aemon sighs in irritation. ”I left the Citadel for you. I have ruined things with Brandon, with Alysanne; I traveled half a world away to get an egg you don’t even want to hatch. So why are we still here?”

“Because I can’t go back!” Tears shimmering in Rhaenys’s dark eyes, she repeats, “I can’t go back. I can’t see him with her. I can’t live with everyone looking at me as if I am a freak. I cannot do it, Aemon. And I did not - ” Angrily wiping at a stray tear, she confesses, “I did not want to be alone.”

His irritation dissipating, Aemon reaches across the table, laying his hand atop hers. ”I will never let you be alone again.”

“I know.” Rhaenys smiles weakly. ”You know, now that you are not going to be a maester, you could inherit again. We should just marry like the Targaryens of old, you, me, even Alysanne; we can rule like Aegon the Conqueror and his wives.”

“The kingdoms would rebel.”

“Let them. We have dragons. It is not as if they’d win.”

Aemon studies her for a moment and a realization dawns on him. “You are not japing.”

“We would not have to lie together,” she quickly rushes to assure him. “Olenna, Elia, the twins, their children could be our heirs. We could rule the Seven Kingdoms together.”

“Alysanne would never - “

“Then it will be just us.” Rhaenys leans in, dropping her voice so it does not carry. “No one would ever be able to cast us aside again. Mother would be permanently safe. We could give Brandon Storm’s End and Alysanne, she could have Dragonstone. The smallfolk will never love me, but they adore you. Think of the good we could do, Aemon. This is what we were born to do.”

“Father not like it,” he points out after a moment. ”Mother will do everything she can to stop us.”

“Let them try.” Rhaenys smiles, squeezing his hand tightly. ”It is always been us against the world. At least this way we can decide what the world will be.”

Aemon does not want to marry Rhaenys; just the idea of wedding his sister goes against everything he believes to be right. But as he sees true hope bloom upon her face, he thinks it is a sacrifice he may be able to make. So long as he never has to take her to his bed, he can give Rhaenys the one thing she has ever truly wanted.

Mayhaps then she will know some sort of peace.


	13. Gendry and Brandon in Arya's Solar

He had been looking for Sansa. Since returning to court, Sansa and Arya had become as close as they had ever been, and, while Gendry was happy they had healed their rift, it always made him uncomfortable to come upon them together, his wife and his former mistress, the sisters he loved.

The moment he stepped into Arya’s solar, Gendry felt as if he was struck dumb. Brandon was examining a book on the table, boredom on his face, and Gendry felt the painful ache he always did when confronted with his son. He knew from the letters Arya gave him that Brandon was a good boy, well-liked in the Stormlands and gifted at swordplay; the few times Gendry wrote to Renly, his uncle shared his plans to name Brandon his heir, to make certain Storm’s End passed to a true Baratheon rather than one of Gendry’s siblings. His uncle had the strangest theory that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were not truly Robert’s children, and, while Gendry thought his mother guilty of several crimes, sharing a bed with her brother was not one of them. Yet even Gendry could not deny Brandon was the spitting image of him, the spitting image of Robert. 

“Hello.”

Brandon looked up, surprise in his eyes. ”Oh, hello. Are you looking for my mother?”

“No, no,” he quickly answered, “I was trying to find Sansa.”

“She and Mother took the twins somewhere. They should be back shortly.” Brandon paused, tugging the corner of his lip between his teeth, before asking, “Do you want to wait with me?”

Gendry nodded, carefully approaching the table. Nervously he reached for the wineskin, pouring himself a cup. Brandon smiled before doing the same. It was Dornish sour, the taste making Brandon pull a face, and Gendry could not help but laugh.

“You do not drink much Dornish sour at Storm’s End?”

“Renly prefers Arbor gold. Ser Loras brings it by the case when he visits.”

“Do you spend much time with them, Renly and Loras?”

Brandon nodded, taking another long drink from his cup. ”Loras has expanding my training. The master-at-arms is getting on, and it isn’t a challenge with him.”

“Do you wish to still be a knight?” When Brandon looked at him in confusion, he elaborated, slightly embarrassed, “When you were small, you told me you wished to be a knight of the Kingsguard. I suppose…Well, I suppose you’ve changed since then.”

Brandon poured himself another cup of wine, his eyes downcast as he murmured, “You remember that?”

“Of course.”

“I did want to be a knight. But I want - ” Brandon drained his cup in one gulp, reaching for the skin again. ”I’m going to be the Lord of Storm’s End.”

“I always loved Storm’s End. Edric and I used to love to play on the beach there. Do you spend much time on the beach?”

A mischievous smile played at Brandon’s lips as he offered, “Only when I am with Lysa Santagar.”

“Lysa, is she - “

“A friend.”

“Do you have many friends?”

“I am a friendly person.” Meeting Gendry’s gaze, he stressed, “But a careful one. I would not want to hurt a friend.” 

Gendry blushed, reaching for the skin. “Yes, it is…The last thing you would want to do is hurt a friend.” Catching himself, he quickly added, “Not that something wonderful cannot come from hurt.”

“You and my mother were friends.” Brandon settled back in his chair. ”Was she your only friend or did you have others?”

“No, only Arya,” he swore. ”It was only ever Arya.”

“Did you meet her when you married Sansa?”

“No, it was before that. My father’s court traveled to Winterfell to ask Lord Stark to be the Hand.” The story came tumbling from Gendry’s lips, starting with the moment he stumbled upon her trying to limp up the stairs until that terrible night in Mikken’s forge. But it was as if a dam had been broken inside him, and Gendry found himself describing everything he remembered sharing with Arya, save the more intimate moments. By the time he was finished telling the story of how Arya once managed to find herself tangled in a tree, her skirts hung up on branches, he and Brandon both were laughing, and Gendry wondered if this is how it always would have been had he been able to be Brandon’s father.

“What’s so funny?” Arya asked, and, as Gendry turned to look at her, he wanted desperately to beg her to join them. How many times had he imagined something as banal as sharing a meal with Arya and Brandon, indulging in the fantasy of the three of them being a family? How many times had he wanted his girls to greet Brandon like a brother, to be able to acknowledge Brandon as his son?

Mayhaps this was the start of finally having something he wanted.


	14. Rhaenys and Rhaego

When she was small, when they left the Wall and arrived in King’s Landing, Rhaenys remembered how painfully lonely she was. Father was busy being king and Mother was always sad; Aemon did his lessons with Haldon, and they gave her and Alysanne over to the septa. Rhaenys hated all of it: being away from Aemon, being forced to sit still and be quiet and embroider handkerchiefs rather than ride her pony. She used to hide from Septa Maeve, and her favorite places were the ones that were most prohibited to her: the traitor’s walk, the dungeons, the small council meeting room. One afternoon when she ran away, she was hiding in the Tower of Hand when Rhaego stumbled upon her. He looked at her in surprise and then amusement, carefully folding his body so that he fit beneath the table with her; the bells in his hair tinkled softly, and Rhaenys could remember the scent of the oil he used on his braid.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I hate being a princess. It is nothing like Father said it would be.” She turned her eyes up to him and entreated, “Can we go home? You’re the khal, and I could be your khaleesi.”

“You are too small to be my khaleesi right now.” He smiled, leaning in close and brushing a kiss against her temple. “But should you still want to be when you are older, let me know.”

When they were sent away to Winterfell, Rhaego was the only one who wrote her. She remembered sitting in the rookery, utterly irritating Maester Luwin, and waiting for her father to write, to call her back to King’s Landing and let her be Rhaenys Targaryen again. Aemon and Alysanne, they did not understand what precisely being a bastard means, but Rhaenys knew; she had gone from being the daughter of a king and queen, the namesake of a great queen and a murdered princess, to being just another Snow.

Rhaego’s letter arrived once, mayhaps twice, every moon; Rhaenys would hungrily devour the words, taking great care to peel the wax seal off of each one. As she grew older, the letters tapered off some; Rhaego sat on the small council now, the Master of Laws, and he would write about the petty quarrels of lords, how boring he found his role in it all to be.

I wish I could return to the Dothraki Sea, to be the great khal as my father was. Would you come with me? Would you be my khaleesi and ride at the head of my khalasar?

The letter arrived a moon before the last he would send her, the one which told of Connington’s illness and her father’s march north. She did not want to see her father, did not want to see his new wife and the daughters which replaced her; it was why she refused to meet the procession, why she hid in the godswood like a petulant child. It was where Rhaego found her, pouting near the pool.

He sat beside her, silent for a long time, before declaring, “I will do whatever it takes to put you on the Iron Throne if that is what you wish.”

She looked at him curiously. “I thought you wanted to return home.”

“You are home.” Rhaego took her hand, holding it tightly between his own. ”What do you want?”

“I want to be queen,” she answered without hesitation.

He smiled, leaning forward and gently pressing his lips to hers. ”Then we will make it happen.”

She kissed him until her lips were swollen and numb, until she was so drunk on hope she could scarcely stay still. Rhaego loved her, well and true, and he was going to make certain she was happy.

Rhaenys knew that, when she became queen, Rhaego would be her king. It was the only thing in her life she never doubted.


	15. Brandon Find Out He's Not A Targaryen

The year Brandon turns ten, Ser Loras returns to Storm’s End with his sister Margaey and two of her sons. Brandon remembers them from King’s Landing and hadn’t liked them much then, but Renly tells him it’s important to always be kind to guests. Besides, Renly adds with a smile, it is not their fault Joffrey is their father.

It happens a fortnight into their visit. Brandon is sparring with Alister, the older boy quickly becoming more and more frustrated as Brandon holds off his attacks; Brandon’s blunted blade catches Alister hard on the wrist, forcing him to drop his sword. As happy as he is to have won, Brandon is already bending to fetch Alister’s sword for him when the blond boy spits, “Bastard!”

Stung, Brandon snaps, “You can’t speak to me like that! I’m the prince of Summerhall.”

“No, you’re not,” Alister growls, cradling his aching arm to his chest. “The king isn’t your father. Your mother is a whore and bedded down with your uncle - “

Brandon doesn’t hear the rest of his words, roaring with fury as he flings himself at Alister, driving him hard to the ground. He is big for his age, everyone always says so, and Brandon uses every bit of his size to keep Alister on his back, Brandon’s fists pummeling his body. It takes two men to pull Brandon off of a bleeding, whimpering Alister and still Brandon screams, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

Prince or not, Cortnay Penrose orders him to be held in his chambers until Renly returns. Though it an entire day before his foster father arrives at Brandon’s chambers, Brandon’s anger has not dissipated. Immediately he begins demanding Alister be sent away, be taken to King’s Landing to face punishment for slandering the queen, and Renly only perches upon the edge of the bed.

“Alister told me what he said to you. And you’re right; what he said about Arya is inexcusable.”

“He lied! He said I’m not a prince, that my father isn’t my father. That’s treason!”

“Come here, my boy.” 

Brandon dutifully stands before Renly, his guardian resting his hands upon Brandon’s shoulders. He doesn’t say anything at first, and Brandon suddenly feels like he is seeing Renly for the first time. They have the same black hair, the same nose and chin; their eyes are the only characteristics they do not share, and Brandon knows that is because he has the Stark eyes, like Mother and Alysanne. But he does not look like Father, like Aemon does, or like the Martells, like Rhaenys. 

“It’s true, isn’t it? Aegon isn’t my father.”

Renly sighs, squeezing his shoulders in comfort. “No, Brandon. He gave you his name, but it is not his blood in your veins.”

“Are you - “

“No,” he cuts in quickly. “As much as I wish you were, you are not my son either.”

“Then who?”

“Gendry.”

“But he is Aunt Sansa’s husband.”

Renly nods heavily. “Yes.”

For a moment Brandon feels adrift, his mind spinning. And then all he can ask is, “Then why did the king claim me as his son?”

“Because he loves your mother. Because he loves you.” 

“But I’m not a Targaryen. I’m…I’m a Baratheon.”

This time Renly smiles. “Yes,” he agrees emphatically, “you are a Baratheon.”

Brandon wants to be angry at his mother, at his uncle, even at Aegon for doing him this kindness; but all Brandon can think of are his siblings and how he hopes they do not find out he is not truly their brother. He doesn’t want them to know what their mother did. He doesn’t want them to feel like this too.


	16. A Happy Moment Between Sansa and Gendry

Sansa has never felt quite comfortable with the Lannisters. There is always an undercurrent of tension to them, anger boiling just under the surface, and she doesn’t understand it. Cersei hates Tyrion but loves Jaime, Jaime loves them both but does not know how to balance it all, Tywin seems to love no one but everyone fears him, and Tyrion seems to hate them all, save Jaime; she mentions it to Gendry once, and he smiles bitterly as he explains that being a Lannister is like going to war every day. Sansa knows they think her husband more of a Baratheon than they do a Lannister; his siblings, golden haired and emerald eyed, certainly looked more like his mother’s family, but she thinks it is foolish to prefer a monster like Joffrey to a man as honorable as Gendry.

Sansa does not much care for Casterly Rock, but Cersei insists they celebrate her lord father’s name day in the Westerlands. It is the last days of autumn, and Elinor is only six moons old. She had wanted to bring her daughter with them, but Cersei insisted Elinor would be fine in King’s Landing with her septa and wet nurse; there is an ache in her chest at being so far from her child, and Gendry keeps assuring her Elinor is safe and sound.

Her marriage is nearly two years old now, but she still feels uncertain so much of the time. Gendry has been more attentive since Arya wen to Dorne, but Sansa often feels as if there is a stiff formality to everything they do. Her mother assures her it is often the way in the beginning, but Catelyn swears she and Gendry will find their way. Sansa knows she wants that; she just is not sure Gendry does.

Casterly Rock is the grandest place Sansa has ever been, the Lannister wealth evident everywhere she looks. Myrcella shows her the grounds, even taking her to see the lions, but, for all its splendor, Sansa thinks it feels cold. It is nothing like Winterfell, always pulsing with love and safety; there is nothing safe about this place.

She is returning to her rooms when she glimpses Gendry out a window; he is standing on the beach, the Summer Sea calm today after days of churning, and something urges Sansa to go to him. Sansa fumbles a bit on the sand, unused to walking on something so unsteady, and she nearly trips as the heel of her shoe sinks too deeply. She makes a decidedly unladylike noise as she attempts to catch herself, and Gendry turns, amusement twisting his lips. Sansa blushes as he approaches; she expects him to offer his arm but instead he surprises her, kneeling in the sand and lifting her foot, pulling off her shoe.

“What are you doing?” she asks as he removes her other shoe.

“You cannot walk the beach in shoes like this.” Sansa gasps as his hand steals up her skirts, finding the top of her stockings and rolling them down. ”Just trust me.”

This is the most inappropriate thing she has ever done, allowing a man to remove her stockings where anyone can see; how often had Septa Mordane told her that no true lady ever went bare legged? But as Gendry tucks the silk stockings into her shoes, Sansa digs her toes into the sand and keeps silent; Gendry has never been so free with her before and she likes it.

“There. Isn’t that better?”

“It feels odd.”

Gendry laughs, taking her hand and leading her down the beach. ”When I was young, I used to love playing here. I’d swim until my fingers wrinkled, and my mother would fuss, say it wasn’t befitting a prince. Do you swim?”

“Not since I was very little. I think the last time was at Riverrun before Rickon was born.”

Gendry grins mischievously only a moment before he begins to tug her into the tide. Sansa squeals as the cool water touches her feet, splashing against her shins and drenching the hem of her gown, but Gendry persists, pulling her deeper with him. 

“Gendry, it’s freezing!” she cries as they stand in thigh-deep water.

“I thought you were a Northern lady, used to the cold,” he teases.

Both of them shout as a wave suddenly hits them, soaking them from head to toe, and Sansa cannot help but start to laugh at the way Gendry tries to rush from the surf, already shaking from the cold water. Her hair is plastered to her head, her gown clinging like a second skin, but Sansa finds herself feeling light as Gendry gathers her shoes and his boots, the two of them returning to the castle hand-in-hand.

“What in seven hells happened to the two of you?” Cersei cries when she sees them trying to steal up the stairs towards the baths.

“We got wet,” Gendry answers, his voice perfectly innocent and clearly infuriating his mother, and Sansa turns her head, hiding her face against his shoulder so the Lannisters do not see her laughter.

The steam filling the baths instantly warms Sansa as they step inside, Gendry ordering the guard to make certain no one enters. It takes she and Gendry both to wrestle her from her gown, now as tight as a second skin, and, as she slides into the hot water, Gendry quickly joining her, Sansa sighs with pleasure.

“That was quite mad of us.”

Gendry lies back against the wall, letting his head rest against the edge, his eyes dropping shut. “All you and I have ever done is what other people has told us to do. We could stand to go mad from time to time.”

It’s terribly brazen of her to slip into his lap, straddling his body as her hands cup his face. Gendry lifts his head, his hands falling to her hips, still a bit soft from Elinor’s birth, and she can see the blatant desire in his eyes. 

“You are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms,” he murmurs hoarsely as he strains up to kiss her.

His kiss is fierce, one hand wandering up her back, his fingers tangling in her hair, while the other rises to cup her breast, a calloused thumb stroking her nipple. Sansa moans into his mouth, her body seeming to come alive beneath his touch, and, when they break to catch their breath, she whispers, “I love you.”

It is the first time she has ever said it, the first time she thinks she has ever truly felt it. For a terrible moment Gendry pauses, and Sansa thinks he is going to dump her out of his lap and leave her in the bath. But then he kisses her, slower and more gentle this time, and whispers back, “I want to worthy of your love, Sansa. I want to love you the way you deserve.”

“So love me,” Sansa replies practically, and Gendry smiles, kissing her again.

That is the night they conceive Rose.


End file.
